


The Specter

by Antecanis



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Basically just angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antecanis/pseuds/Antecanis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heavily injured, Connor flees through the woods hoping to find shelter in one of the caves. Hunted by Templars and suffering from fever and blood loss, he slowly loses track of time and reality. And when a shadow emerges from the fog, it seems as if a ghost from his past has returned to haunt him at last...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Specter

**Author's Note:**

> Despite some slight canon divergence, this is set several years after the events of AC III (meaning Connor killed Haytham like in the game). Ah, it's been too long since I wrote some nice Angst. (do I ever write anything else?)

The forest welcomed the wounded Assassin with moist air and the vague smell of fern and honey; its shadow swallowed him up like a ghost’s embrace, but Connor still stumbled further - further; knowing he could not stop until he was safe from the men following him through the night; relentlessly keeping on his tail, and wanting nothing less than ending his life.  
Those very capable Templars had hunted him down a day ago; and he had merely made it out of the suburbs of Boston alive; one of the men had managed to shoot him, and the searing pain pulsating in his side made him stagger with each step he took towards uncertainty.   
He had wanted to seek shelter in one of the bear caves he had discovered on his long journeys through the dark woods surrounding Boston, but now he was without orientation; merely taking step after step, trying to keep going no matter how much his injuries hurt. He stumbled; he ran; simply trying to increase the space between him and his pursuers. 

He staggered through the high ferns and the thicket until he didn’t know why he was running anymore; or from what. He only knew that he had to be safe; that he couldn’t stop until he had found shelter.  
Forwards and further into the woods, clutching his pulsating, bleeding side; a sharp pain that slowly blurred with the aching of his limbs; the scratches, and the exhaustion flooding through him.  
Somehow he found himself on the soft forest earth again and again, not recalling how he had fallen, or how long he had been lying there; the lighting around him was diffuse, not changing, neither being entirely dark nor really bright, as if it was constantly at the verge of changing from night to day, or from day to night. He had no idea whether or not he was running for the whole night already, or if only minutes had passed.  
It got harder and harder to struggle to his feet again, and the light rain that started falling at some point burned on his heated skin. His body started to shiver uncontrollably, but he didn’t know whether it was shivering from heat or cold.

When he opened his eyes again, he didn’t know how long he had been out or how he had even gotten to the ground. He was lying amidst the high fern, clutching his aching side and shivering in fever with his face pressed into the wet humus soil; feeling how sweat let strands of his dark hair cling to his skin uncomfortably, and how it seemed as if his bones were burning him up from the inside. Coughing, he slowly surfaced from a blissful nothingness back into raw anguish.  
The air was filled with heavy fog that smelled like the ocean, and which was so thick that it almost seemed as if it was weighing down Connor’s body so much that he wouldn’t be able to get up. Groaning, he tried to orientate himself; to keep his eyes open despite the sweet promise of sleep and oblivion; to maybe get up in just a moment after having found the strength to do so – just resting for a second longer until he could continue his search for some kind of shelter; from what, he couldn’t quite recall…  
He was trapped in a feverish state of confusion, trying to remember why he felt so very alone, lost and afraid; why he had to run and run and run until he was safe.   
A vague motion to his left caught his attention, and his eyes widened as a dark silhouette emerged from the fog like a ghost from its grave.  
For a moment Connor felt fear running through his body like ice water, wondering if this appearance was one of the reasons why he had to run, but then he noticed the heavy Templar’s coat and the breath caught in his throat as he lifted his head from the ground and stared at the dark figure with dark, glassy eyes; wonder and disbelief being visible in them as he tried to make sense of the distorted sight.  
“Father…”, he mumbled almost incomprehensibly, trying to smile as he slowly raised his bloody hand to reach for the distant man. “You’ve come… t-to… to bring me to safety? Again it is you who… who saves me from death?”  
The silhouette seemed to shy away from his words, and only slowly Connor remembered; as if memories of a strange dream returned to him; trickling into his mind, thick drops, cruelly slow revealing forgotten wounds. The smile faded from his lips upon regaining the memory of his father dying by his hand in his arms.  
“No… no… I killed you. You’re… you are here to… to haunt me? Have I become so weak that…?” His voice was barely more than a raw whisper as his teeth clattered and his body trembled. “That I can’t keep away your g-ghost anymore?”   
With his last energy he tried to at least sit up and lean against the nearest tree. Sweat was running down his heated, flushed skin as he tried to do so, and it took him long, painful moments until he had accomplished this task. Groaning in pain, he held tightly onto his wounded side and didn’t notice the blood running over his fingers. Leaning back, he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling like his insides were burning.  
“How could you?”, he croaked out, brushing hair and dirt from his face and not noticing how he smeared blood onto his skin by doing so. “How could you… l-let it happen? You knew it would… come to t-that. And still – !”  
He opened his eyes and looked at the specter; feeling how tears were welling up; how his broad shoulders started to tremble from exhaustion and regret rather than fever. Suddenly, the big Assassin seemed more like a child; lost and alone.  
“I know… You t-thought I was asleep, but… that one night on the Aquila… after we…” He added something inaudible that was disrupted by a heavy sob.   
“I felt your embrace.”, Connor whispered as he leaned back against the tree, hugging himself. “You held m-me so tight… as if it could all… be good one day…” Another sob disrupted his words and with every movement he flinched from pain. “I missed it so m-much… Father, please, why c-can’t you… why can’t you embrace me like that… again? As if I could… be at peace with you… one day.”  
His words were almost inaudible; whimpered as if uttered in a feverish dream; the tears painting small trails into the blood and dirt on the Assassin’s flushed cheeks.  
“Why d-did you make me do it? Why did you let it come to this? I n-need your help, I…” Sobs let his body tremble, and his head slumped forward. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I made a mistake, I… please, why… why… couldn’t I stop it? I couldn’t protect my mother, my friends, Achilles… You. I’m… so sorry… ”  
Hurt and alone, he bowed to the specter; weighed down by pain and regret, by loneliness and fever; crying in desperation and fear, knowing he wasn’t safe, wasn’t going to be okay; talking to a ghost.

And then the specter stepped forward; leaning over the injured Assassin, who looked up with feverish eyes as the silhouette reached out to pull him into his arms.  
Connor took in a breath of pained anticipation, almost expecting the specter’s touch to go right through his skin; to only leave more bitterness and cold, but instead he could feel the other’s warmth; his damp coat under Connor’s fingertips as he ran them hesitantly over the fabric.  
Breathing out a sob of relief and wonder, he let himself slump forward into the specter’s arms, embracing him like his father had so many years ago.  
And Connor closed his eyes again with a shaky breath, feeling like he had found safety at last; knowing he didn’t have to run anymore.  
“Oh niiawenhátie, raké:ni? Konnorónhkwa, konnorónhkwa… Sa'nikonhraién:tas ken, raké:ni? Raké:ni… Sakataterihwáhten…”, he mumbled, unaware of having slipped in his native tongue; slowly being embraced by darkness, as if it was seeping from the specter’s coat into his body; freeing him of pain and the necessity to run and fight for his life.   
There was a calmness overcoming him… because it almost seemed as if he could hear Haytham’s voice from very far away sounding to him; calling out...

“We’ve been waiting, Connor. It’s alright, son, put down your arms and rest for a while… Come, come into my arms, boy… Hush, don’t cry. You don’t need to fight anymore. You’ll be safe with me now, Ratonhnhaké:ton… We’ve found peace at last…”

**Author's Note:**

> I had toyed with the idea of "Ghost!Haytham" for a while, at first in a rather happy setting (like, him coming back because Connor's regret of having him killed being so intense; and Ghost!Haytham being "touchable" during one night of year and shamelessly using that do to nice things with Connor which he usually can only whisper to him) BUT then... I kind of thought of this little scenario.  
> And now it's not even a ghost story anymore.  
> Thanks for reading! - and I'd be (as always) immensely happy about feedback (those mails from AO3 seriously make my day, that much I may admit). <3


End file.
